


when the stars have all gone out (you'll still be burning so bright)

by Arbryna



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Legend of the Seeker, Lost Girl, Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two women carve out a space in time--for redemption, for surrender, for love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the stars have all gone out (you'll still be burning so bright)

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of an experiment, really. I wanted to write some smut to celebrate reaching 69 followers on Tumblr, but I didn't want to leave any of my three main fandoms out by choosing one OTP over another, so...I didn't choose. Accordingly, this can (hopefully) be read as any of the three pairings tagged. 
> 
> _edit:_ Months later, I realize this can apply to Bo/Tamsin too, so I've updated the tags to reflect that :)
> 
> Title taken from Sarah McLachlan, "Answer".

You don't deserve her. 

She is good, and strong, and bright. You reside in darkness, walking the line between good and evil and too often straying to the wrong side. You'd never admit to being weak, but the strength she possesses is one you could never hope to match. You can only watch from your shadows, hoping that her light will fall on you and warm the chill in your veins. 

You don't deserve her, but that hardly makes a difference. She has made it clear that she is yours, repeats it now with the ardent press of her lips, with the soft caress of fingertips along your imperfect skin. Your life has never been without risk, but she is not put off by your scars--she traces them with fingers, then tongue, treats them with reverence as though they are only proof that you are real, that you are here with her now. 

It borders on the ridiculously sentimental, but you can't think of any place you'd rather be. 

You've been touched before, but the slow burn she ignites under your skin feels brand new, like she is reaching inside you and laying your very soul bare.

And she hasn't even gotten to the good part yet. She teases a nipple with her teeth, sprinkles kisses along your ribs, dips her tongue into your navel, and you are already quivering with need, your hips jerking into nothing as she pulls away. The mischievous smirk on her lips only makes you want her more.

Your fingers sink into thick dark hair, trying to guide her where her touch will be most appreciated. She just chuckles, low and affectionate, and it hits you: she's in charge. She's taking the lead, and you really shouldn't be okay with this--you're always in control, always the aggressor--but she knows just how to slip into the cracks of your carefully built walls and tear them down. 

You should feel off-balance; you should be terrified or angry or indignant, or even just quick to turn the tables and have her naked on her back before you. Instead, you feel...good. Comfortable. You don't need to exert your dominance here, because it would be laughable, really; you both know that she could ask anything of you and you would do it or die trying. 

The most important thing, the thing that is the hardest for you to give, she's never actually asked for in so many words. She asks you with languid, sucking kisses along your belly, with sharp little nips at your hipbones quickly soothed with a gentle swipe of a warm tongue. She asks you with her eyes, crystal clear pools glimmering with intelligence and mischief and _faith_. 

Everything you've done--the pain you've inflicted, the damage you've caused--it means nothing in the face of the unshakeable love in those eyes. She's asking for your surrender, eternal and unconditional, and you are only too eager to offer it up to her. 

Just as the question required no voice, neither does the answer. The smile that blossoms on her lips is less teasing now, more awestruck. She knows what you're giving up, what you've had to sacrifice and overcome to get to this place; and what she doesn't know for sure, she understands, instinctually. 

The same way she understands when the moment goes on a little too long, becomes a little too heavy with memories best left in the past. Her mouth eases back into a knowing smirk, and she nibbles along the juncture of thigh and hip, chin brushing lightly against the wiry curls between your legs. 

Her tongue slides against you, hot and slick, and a groan tears itself from your throat, turning into an undignified whimper when she pulls away just long enough to shift her weight on the bed. 

You watch her get settled, your heaving breasts only partially obstructing the view. One hand snakes under your leg to anchor itself on your hip while the other caresses up your inner thigh, spreading you open before her gaze. Her cheeks are bright with color, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that tells you that she needs this just as badly as you do--perhaps more. 

You're torn, now, because you don't want to miss a second of the delicious sight of her head buried between your thighs, her eyes dark and intense and fixed on your face, watching your every reaction. At the same time, the tight coil of arousal in your belly is nearly overwhelming, and the slow, sure strokes of her tongue are enough to test even the most ironclad focus and self-control. 

Then her fingers slide into you, her mouth never pausing in its own motions, and you no longer have a choice. Your head snaps back against the mattress, your fingers curl around the sheets, and all you can do is moan and arch into her, meet her every thrust with a fervor unlike any you've ever known.

It's so simple--amateur, really--fingers and mouth working in a combined effort to drive you to heights of pleasure you thought you knew inside out. You've certainly done far more adventurous things in bed, on many occasions and with many different lovers. Somehow, she eclipses them all. 

Before long you are trembling beneath her touch, heat spreading steadily out from your core to set your skin ablaze. She knows exactly where to touch, how to curl her fingers inside you while her teeth and tongue and lips continue their relentless assault. 

When you finally shatter, her name is on your lips like it's always belonged there.

Then she's sliding her fingers free, trailing damp fingers over the inside of one thigh as she presses a wet kiss into the other. She's crawling back up the length of your body, her sweat-slick skin pressing against yours, sliding in a way that both calms your senses and excites them. 

You taste yourself on her tongue, and it may just be the best flavor you've ever tried. 

Except there's one thing you think might top it, and you have every intention of testing that theory as soon as your muscles start cooperating again. You shoot her a look that promises she won't be able to walk right for a week when you're done with her, but though her eyes flash dark with hunger, her lips are spread in a satisfied grin, the flush of her skin fading ever-so-slightly. She is not without her own desires, but she is content to slide off to one side and curl into you, resting her head on your shoulder.

You'll allow it, at least for a little while. When you regain your strength, you'll do your best to prove your worth--to her, but more importantly, to yourself--the best way you know how: by loving her.

  
_end._   



End file.
